Acquiescence
by TaYtAyGrLrOx
Summary: But I know he loved me, I’m sure of it. He had to, or maybe it’s just all the alcohol I’ve had making me delusional. Loliver. Slightly.


**Authors Note: Well, I was watching Elizabethtown and was sort of inspired by that movie for this story. They don't really have much in common, but it was roughly inspired by that movie. I really hope you enjoy. I am still writing my other story, but this just sort of popped into my head and I just had to write it. R/R please.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hannah Montana. obviously.**

It shouldn't be like this. If this were to go on, it should be under happy circumstances, not this. Not during a funeral...for my father.

We were never close. Not really. But I know he loved me, I'm sure of it. He had to, or maybe it's just all the alcohol I've had making me delusional. There he was, across the room. Lying in the mahogany casket in his blue suit. My family had insisted on the blue one. It was his best. I personally liked the grey one. It showed more of his personality.

"_No Oliver, the blue one is better," _my mother had said, _"brings out his eyes." _My father had brown eyes. And his eyes wouldn't even be open at the ceremony, or ever again. So why on earth did the damn suit have to match his eyes?!

I hadn't cried.

I should have, but I didn't. Boy's don't cry. I am a horrible son. So I drank. Drank all my worries and problems away. I drank him away. All my memories of him. Except they didn't go away.

And here I was again; drunk as hell, hours after the reception, hiccuping and kissing my best friend all over the mouth.

She giggled, and I smirked. We really shouldn't be doing this. I am a horrible son.

Well dad, I'm sorry I'm not like Owen. I'm sorry I wasn't quarterback for the high school football team instead I liked surfing and skateboarding, and running around with those two silly girls.

We're not running anymore daddy.

I curse the day I asked my dad for love advice. He had never really known Lilly like I had. Or even how my mother had, because he was never home! He didn't know anything.

"_Not now, Oliver," _he would say, _"I'm busy." _He was always busy. Busy and stressed out. That's why he died. Heart attack. Caused by high blood pressure as a result of being stressed out. I once told him he needed a vacation. He though they were a waste of time _"Exactly!"_ I told him.

So a heart attack and here he was, my head father across the dimly lit convention hall watching me slide the black dress off Lilly's tiny frame. Again she giggled.

Then she stopped, gave a look at the casket, and back at me. "Are you sure you want to do this here?"

"Yes." I said firmly. Be envious dad.

I pressed my lips against her hot skin. She moaned.

I had fallen in love with her. Many years ago. No one had loved like us. I was sure of it.

We were caught.

"_Oliver you have better things to do with your life than fool around with the girl next door!" _his voice had boomed in my ears.

"_I love her dad! I love her!"_

It was summer time, high school was over. We had nothing to loose. So we ran away. Together.

Our relationship had become even more strained after that. I only came home for holidays, and even then he was still always to busy for me. He never gave me a chance. Maybe I never gave him one either.

I stopped. She sat up.

"Are you okay?" she whispered. There came no reply. I didn't think so. No. I wasn't okay. That was a problem.

"He loved you," she said. "Even if you don't think so. Oliver, It's okay." She wrapped her arms around my bare chest and lay her head down on my shoulder. She whispered sweet comforting somethings into my ear.

"Let it out, Oliver," she said. I looked at her. My eyes were watery. Boys don't cry.

"It's okay," she reassured me. "I'm here, just let it out." So I did.

I don't know if my father ever loved like this. He could have. My mother was a very eccentric woman though. Even if he didn't approve of whom I love, I hope he had loved like this before he died. Loved enough to be held all night when you don't deserve it for being such a horrible son.

The sun was rising.

"Lets go," I said. So we left my father behind in peace after I glanced at the closed mahogany casket one last time. People would be here soon. The people who take the dead bodies away.

"I really did love him," I said, not daring to let anymore of the salty water solution drip from my eyes.

"I know you did," she whispered, giving me a squeeze.

"When I was six, he had a day off. Mom was in Sacramento with Owen so it was just me and dad for the day. He took me to the park, and we swung on the swings. He pushed me on the merry-go-round, and I got sick and puked all over the front of his jacket. He wasn't mad, he laughed, and put the jacket in the trash. The trash! Haha. Then we went to go get ice cream. And he got bubblegum. It was his favourite. When we came home he watched the Rugrats with me, and he laughed! I don't think I'll ever forget that day. We were both truly happy." I smiled. She smiled back at me.

And then we left. We left my father behind again, but with different feelings than the last time we had left him together. It was good. I could let go.

**Authors Note: Well I hope you liked it. It was sort of short. But please give me your thoughts. Tell me if I'm any good at writing or not. **


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